


Dog Days

by LibertyBelleAnne



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Gen, SEAL Team (TV) Week 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28797729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibertyBelleAnne/pseuds/LibertyBelleAnne
Summary: Brock has had many dogs in his life over the years.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 49





	1. Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Don't own any Seal Team Operatives.
> 
> A/N: For Seal Team week. Sunday - Childhood

**Dog Days**

Brock watched the newest member of Bravo team throw a tennis ball. He watched his dog chase after the small yellow sphere before dropping the slobbery thing back into the hand of the laughing rookie.

Clay had been with them for a while and was just starting to drop some of his walls with his new team. Bravo Six had proven to be a cocky little shit with a heart of gold. He started out with a chip on his shoulder; trying to puff himself up with the older more experienced members.

He had finally started to settle in his own skin among his new teammates. This allowed his façade to start to transform into his more true nature. The kid was a great operator of that there was no doubt but he finally stopped trying to prove it. Instead, he did his job. He still took unnecessary risks, but it was more out of protecting his brothers than to show off. Brock could still sense his fear, lurking behind his blue eyes.

Brock had a dog growing up, multiple dogs actually. He was sure his brothers would be _so surprised_ at that revelation. He smiled to himself as he thought of his many canine companions he had as a boy. His mom was a vet and his dad had trained police dogs. To the community, his family practically ran a dog rescue. Neighbors, extended family members, friends, and even complete strangers had dropped off dogs for some reason or other over the years. Sometimes they were puppies dropped off around the first of the year by overwhelmed first-time owners. Other times it was older dogs with health issues. There were even dogs that had major behavioral issues. Yet the last group of dogs was the most challenging yet rewarding. Dogs that had been neglected or abused and needed a loving home.

They tried to love, train, and rehome as many dogs as they could to new loving homes. But there were some dogs that never reached that point. They became permanent residents of the Reynolds household. There was one resident that was constant throughout his childhood.

Chance had been severely abused and did not trust people when he was placed in their care. Brock had been quite young, around seven years old. His parents had warned him of their new resident. After the dog's initial check-up in his mom's office Chance had been handled solely by his dad. He lost count of how many times his mother had to doctor his dad up after a bad encounter with Chance's teeth.

He remembered asking his dad about Chance, "Why do we keep Chance if he keeps hurting you?"

His dad knelt in front of him, "Everybody in Chance's life has hurt him."

"You didn't hurt him."

"No, but Chance doesn't know that." His dad gripped his shoulder in comfort, "Chance is just scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Everything."

After that revelation, Brock spent many hours outside Chance's kennel. He'd talk softly to the growling dog. Occasionally throwing treats to the distrustful dog. It took almost a year of nipped fingers before Brock was able to pet Chance.

The dog cowered under his gentle hand expecting the next blow to fall swiftly. But he didn't fight it. He didn't growl or snarl. Didn't bear his teeth or bite. He just whined under the small hand expecting pain. He'd learned to trust Brock but he still feared him. Feared the pain he could bring.

The young boy cried into the fur coat as he hugged Chance trying to love away his pain. The tentative wet tongue licking away his tears gave him hope. Chance was not broken he was just hurt. Brock had vowed that day to never hurt those he loved.

Chance never went on to a new home because he had found one with Brock.

The boy and dog were inseparable. They spent their night curled around each other on Brock's bed. But their days were spent out on adventures.

They often went to the nearby pond chasing ducks and catching fish. Brock was stuck using a pole but Chance would jump in and catch them in his mouth. He would drop the flopping fish at his human's feet before shaking pond water all over his fishing companion.

Brock still remembers when they were both treated to a tomato bath after cornering a skunk. Chance's white fur was stained pink for weeks. They stuck to chasing cats and squirrels after that.

Chance liked to chase things but he never wanted to catch them. Not even the skunk that sprayed them. With his trust in Brock earned, away from his old fearful life, he lost the taste for violence. He just wanted to be with his boy. He was happy with Brock; he had nothing to fear.

Chance would always wait at the bus stop when he got off the school bus. He would greet his boy with a wagging tail and then they would walk home together.

When he was thirteen he saw his normally docile dog take a stand, his final stand. Chance stood down a car for him. They were crossing the street when a speeding car came bearing down on the pair. Chance sensing the danger first pushed Brock out of the way. He stood tall against the danger to protect his boy. Brock, dazed, watched Chance stand fearlessly against the car. It all happened so quickly, between one heartbeat and the next. Chance was gone. He gave his life for Brock. That was the only thing Chance had left to fear, losing the person he loved.

Bravo's new kid reminded him of Chance.

Clay's eyes held the same fear and pain that Chance's eye's once held. Brock didn't know half of Clay's childhood, but he knew there was trauma hidden in his past. It seemed things were not all sunshine and roses living in the legendary Ash Spencer's shadow. Not to mention their new rookie's time spent in Africa, of all places, as a child.

There was more hurt hidden in the kid's past than mines in a Russian minefield. Bravo needed to take it slow with him to avoid detonating any mines that may cause Clay irreversible harm. Bravo Six was slowly learning to trust them. He trusted them to have his back, protect him in the field, and even be a friend. But Clay still didn't trust them not to hurt him. It would take time and patience. Brock was willing to give it a chance.


	2. Together Like Salt & Pepper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For Seal Team week. Monday - Memory loss

**Dog Days**

Brock left the cages after the debrief feeling drained. The mission had not been an easy one. His team had been tense ever since Bravo had gone through its current personnel upheaval. Being with his brothers as of late had made him feel like he was drowning. He just needed a chance to catch his breath before he was to meet up again that night for drinks with his brothers.

So he had gone for a run.

He would be fine afterward.

He had been out of the country when his favorite running trail had been hit by a pounding rainstorm. He noticed the damp ground as he led his dog farther up the mountain trail, but didn't give it much thought.

He reached the top, out of breath. The last mission had taken more out of him than he realized. He bent over in half, clutching his knees. Once he got his breathing mostly regulated he poured out water to his running companion, before taking a sip for himself.

He looked down at the land spreading out below him. Something flashed in the sunlight, catching his eye. For a second, in his mind, he wasn't on American soil. He was in enemy territory, where a flash could be a sniper's scope zeroing on him or his brothers. He stepped closer to the edge.

He felt the ground weaken under him.

He'd lost enough dogs; he wasn't about to lose another. Instinctively he released the lead at his side just as he lost his battle against gravity. The dog scrambled farther up on the ledge as it crumbled beneath Brock's feet. He was freefalling in open air before he met the hard unforgiving ground. Sliding and rolling down the steep incline until his body was stopped abruptly against a tree.

Brock woke up alone. His vision showing a swimming, blurry view of a mountain towering above him. Blood leaked into his vision as he tried to blink his eyes into focus. This only revealed his dire situation. He ached, everywhere. Covered in cuts and bruises no doubt under the layer of dark mud caking his clothes and skin. The slick mud had probably saved him from worst injury, cushioning some of the impacts of his decent. He tried to push away from the tree he was resting against but his body screamed in protest. Clearly, the mud didn't save him from some cracked or broken bones. Possible internal bleeding for all he could tell. He needed Trent.

He lay panting, trying to get his pain under control. He was in trouble. He was hurt worse than he could deal with. He couldn't get himself up, let alone out of this mess. He was alone. Then he remembered his dog was with him.

"Cerb," He called out, growing worried, "Cerberus!"

He didn't know where his brothers were but his canine partner had been with him. He knew that he had been.

He heard a bark and the sounds of a dog trotting towards him.

It wasn't Cerberus.

It was a Dutch shepherd, not a Malinois. Not to mention it was younger than his dog and clearly a female.

The dog came up to him without any hesitation. She acted as if she knew him. But he had no recollections of this new dog. With no signs of aggression, she sniffed at his sore head before giving a small whine. Her tongue gave a soft tentative lick at his bloody wound. He pushed her head away gently with a wince.

Whose dog was this? Where was he? Where were his brothers? Where was his dog?

His eyes refused to remain open. He felt a warm body wrap around his own. He reached up a hand to weakly tangle his fingers through her fur. He didn't remember this dog but he didn't want her to leave.

Something about this new dog reminded him of his other canine partners. She was not just a regular dog. He never had a Dutch Shepherd but military dogs all had something that set them apart from other dogs. Perhaps it was their extensive training or their bond with their humans. Whatever it was, it allowed them to face danger on a regular basis. Their job was to risk their lives to protect people and it showed.

His first dog as a Navy handler was Ace. A sleek, well trained six-year-old German Shepherd. The stoic dog had been deemed Bat-Hound by Brock's previous team. Brock secretly suspected it was just so they could nickname their new rookie Robin the Boy Wonder. Ace had been trained by an older handler that had been medically discharged from the service. Ace never seemed to recover from that. He was never the affectionate playful dog people spoke of before his handler's accident. Brock spent nearly two years trying to gain the dog's trust and affection. He didn't think he ever truly gained it until Ace took a knife that was meant for Brock. Ace was medically discharged from the Navy and reunited with his original handler.

Rita had been his; her trust and love had been there for him since day one. He started training her as soon as she was old enough to train. The Malinois had been everything he'd dreamed of having in a canine partner and more. She was a quick learner; seemingly reading Brock's mind. Knowing what was required of her before Brock even got the command passed his lips. Loyal and protective of Brock and anyone she deemed under her protection. She was like a mama bear with new cubs. There was no holding her back or down when she got an idea in her head. She'd saved his life and the lives of countless others throughout her service.

Brock had let her down. He knew she was starting to struggle. Missing commands, not picking up certain smells, and struggling to climb and run. She was getting older. She'd led a fulfilling but hard life. Brock should have retired her but he couldn't face going on missions without her by his side, so he put it off. He thought she just needed more training, maybe some more rest between missions and she would be fine.

She wasn't.

She tripped an explosive she should have easily caught while clearing a house for her team. She gave her all for her team, which she loved so much

Brock found himself starting to shiver uncontrollably. Whether it was from pain, exposure, or shock his muddled mind couldn't figure out. He was in trouble but he couldn't find the energy to move or even care.

The dog at his side whined softly. She curled tighter around him trying to keep him warm. He didn't know where his team was but at least he wasn't alone.

Rita didn't leave Brock alone; she left her son. Cerb was so alike his mother in looks and mannerism. Sometimes he caught himself calling him by her name.

Cerberus was Bravo's dog.

The dog would play fetch with Clay all day long if he could. He'd be led around by Sonny to scare any newbies. He would lay at Trent's feet in a quiet moment. He'd play tug of war with Jason. He'd be gentle as Ray supervised his play with Ray's kids.

He would go in with only a word to stand between his team and anything that would be a threat to his humans. Whether that be explosives, guns, knives, cartels, terrorists, gangs and even other dogs. Cerb was ready to lay down his life for Bravo.

Brock vowed to never make the same mistakes with Cerb that he did with his mother.

He felt a wave of sadness wash over him. Cerb was no longer his partner. He had retired. He'd almost made the same mistakes with him. He'd almost lost him for good. It was his job to know when his partners had had enough. That was on him. It was time for Cerb to just be a dog.

He would always be Bravo's dog. His job was just different now. He was charged with watching over Bravo's leader. He'd take care of his team by watching over Bravo One.

Brock began to lose his battle to stay conscious, not sure if he would wake up again. He wished his brothers were by his side, but at least he wouldn't die alone.

Brock opened his eyes to darkness. Except for a glow behind him. He turned his head to the crackling sound watching the hypnotizing flames through hooded eyes. He recognized the shadowy forms surrounding him. His team had found him. His brothers would take care of him. The dog that found her way to him was still curled around him. Between her warm body, the fire, and the emergency blanket covering his form he'd stopped shivering.

"Thanks, Pepper," He laid a hand over his new dog's head. He had nothing to worry about. His team had found him and his dog had never left him alone. He took a deep breath of the cool night air and closed his eyes with a small smile on his lips.

Together they could face anything.


	3. Finding Your Way Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For Seal Team week. Tuesday - "I've only led you astray, like, twice. That's not even that bad!"

**Dog Days**

Bravo team had gotten separated on a nighttime training exercise. They were set for a landing on one side of the mountain. Jason, Ray, and Full Metal had landed no problem. On the other side, the wrong side, Sonny was the most senior Bravo team member. It was up to him to lead Trent, Clay, and Brock to the rest of the team.

It was dark on the rough mountainside. The height of which was jamming the communication between the separated team. With no real trail on the steeper side, their journey was made even more perilous with the unexpected rainfall.

They were all cold, tired, and frustrated. It was supposed to be a simple mock reconnaissance mission that would last a few hours. Just long enough to run through a few scenarios and be home in time for breakfast. They had been on their own for the better part of the night. The trails they followed were no better than old deer trails, that would vanish suddenly into nothing. They spent more time backtracking, slipping through mud, then climbing upward.

It didn't help that Sonny had a terrible sense of direction.

Brock had one dog in particular that had a wandering problem. His family had gotten Sassy as an older dog, that was half-blind. She showed up in their yard one day, and the best they could figure was that she had run away from home and became lost. Her previous owners couldn't find her or perhaps never even bothered looking.

She had clearly had some training in the past but she was far from obedient. She knew what you were saying, she just didn't like what you were saying.

She was one stubborn cuss.

"Sonny," Clay called up to the line leader, "We're going in circles."

"We only got turned around twice!" Sonny defended.

"Lost, Sonny!" Trent snapped. Growing tired of the younger man.

"It's not that bad," Sonny growled, continuing to move the line along. It was almost sunup; he wanted to get home in time for lunch.

"We should have met up with the others hours ago," Clay pointed out helpfully.

This just proved to infuriate their temporary team leader. Sonny was getting sick of the ungrateful bastards. Sonny didn't want to be team leader. He never wanted to be team leader. He was happy following orders as long as he trusted the guy giving them.

"Sonny just wanted to be in charge," Brock needled, with a smirk.

"Just be quiet, Brock," The Texan huffed, "It's what you're good at."

Brock held his hands up in surrender as the others gave tired chuckles. They set off again with a burst of new energy. They had brothers to reunite with.

Sonny loved his brothers but they were tap-dancing on his last nerve. He was worried about how long it was taking to meet up with the others. What if something had happened to them. He felt useless, wandering around in the woods. The radio silence was driving him crazy. He wanted all his brothers where he could keep an eye on them. He dealt with stress and worry with anger, but he was in charge. He needed to keep a level head and get his guys to safety. Lead them to Jason so he didn't have to be in charge anymore.

First, he needed to stop getting them lost.

The muddy ground was an annoyance to the frogmen. The rain only fell hard enough to turn the dirt into muck; not hard enough to wash them free of it. They were caked in the stuff. Their boot treads occasionally slipped in the mud but a brother was usually close by to stop the worst of the falls.

As the sun rose above them Clay took a bad fall. His dirty blond head tried to pop back up but he fell back to the ground with a hiss. Trent was at his side immediately checking him for injuries.

"You okay, Blondie?" Sonny asked as he hovered over the pair.

"Fine," Clay hissed between clenched teeth as Trent probed his ankle.

"He's not fine," Trent spoke over his patient's head, "It feels like a bad sprain."

"I can walk."

"Not on that foot you're not."

"I'm not being carried out of here," Clay shook his head, "The trail is precarious enough as it is without adding a stretcher."

"What if you just lean on me and just hobble on out of here, GQ?" Sonny asked sarcastically.

"Fine," Clay growled pulling himself up without using his bad foot.

"I was joking," Sonny was getting exasperated. How Jason dealt with the kid was beyond him. It was liking giving orders to a brick wall. The rookie and temporary leader stood glaring at one other.

"I found a way out of here," Brock interrupted their pissing contest. Nobody had noticed him scout ahead. He'd found an actual trail that seemed to lead over the top of the mountain to the other side.

Trent finished securing the injured foot the best he could. The medic looked at Sonny expectantly, waiting for him the give the final word. The Texan just sighed before grabbing Clay's arm and throwing it over his own shoulder. He was the leader and he planned to get all his men home.

They walked up towards the sun and the rest of their team.

For the longest time, Brock thought Sassy was looking for her old home. Maybe she was at first, but in the end, it was not what she found. Every time she escaped the yard Brock would have to go find her or some neighbor would call with her whereabouts or just drop her back off.

One day about six months after she was first dropped off at the Reynolds she came back on her own. She wasn't alone. She carried a small, dirty, underfed kitten with her.

Somehow Sassy had found home. It turned out for her it wasn't a place but a friend. She was finally happy in the place where she was at. Sassy never left the yard again after Silvester entered it.

Sonny loved Texas yet he never went home. He never spoke of his family but he'd talk all day long about his home state team's statics and history.

He lived and bled for the Navy. His brothers were his family. Bravo was his home.


	4. Nothing To Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For Seal Team week. Wednesday - Worst fear

**Dog Days**

The dark, dank cells rang with the yelling and cussing of Full Metal. Sonny, Metal's only conscious cellmate, slammed his fist against the bars holding him back from tearing their captors apart limb from limb. He watched helplessly as Full Metal was lead out of Bravo's sight. Full Metal was at their mercy and there was nothing his brother could do but wait.

"Don't break your hand," Trent called from the next cell over, "I got enough problems."

Sonny dropped his head in defeat, "How's the kid?"

Clay had taken a deep slash from a knife in the ambush. He'd lost a lot of blood before Trent was able to get the bleeding under control. The kid had been unnatural still and silent, fading in and out of consciousness since they got locked in their cells.

"Stable," Trent sat back on his heels. He'd done all he could for his patient that he could do with the current situation. He hoped he got the bleeding under control soon enough. He could only pray he'd cleaned the wound good enough to stop any infection from taking hold. One patient down. Who knew what state they'd bring Full Metal back in, so he could only wait for that. He turned to his other current patient. He rubbed a bloodied hand over his face with a sigh, "Brock awake yet?"

"No."

Ray having witnessed the blunt force hit that took out his teammate spoke up, "They sure hit him good."

"Why'd they hit him so hard?" Sonny wondered.

"He pulled the goon with the knife off of Clay," Ray related what he'd witnessed, "Brock got him good. Had him on the ground and everything. Then the guy's buddy cold clocked Brock then kicked him in the head when he was down."

The older Bravo team members looked at their two youngest with concern. They were injured with no supplies to help them. Clay probably needed surgery to clean and repair any damage sustained by the knife. Brock needed a cat scan and who knows what else. He could have skull fractures, bleeders, or brain swelling. Their medic couldn't even check him out because he was locked in a different cell.

"He hasn't woke up at all?" Trent questioned again, growing worried at the prolonged state of unconsciousness. Two hits to the head and no responsiveness. He was worried his brother would never wake up.

"'m 'wake," A soft voice slurred.

"Brock!" Sonny cried out scrambling to his cellmate's side.

"Ow," Brock complained quietly at the noise level. His eyes had slammed shut as a shaky hand made its journey up to his head to make sure it was still in one piece.

"Check his responsiveness," Trent ordered. The team medic was gripping his cell bars as he tried to get a closer look at his patient.

"Open your eyes," Sonny ordered in a quieter voice.

Brock cracked open his eyes. He tried to focus on the Texan in front of him. Most days he could hardly stand one Sonny let alone the three he was currently seeing. His vision was fuzzy around the finger Sonny held up in his face. He tried to track with his eyes but lost his balance. Nearly falling over, Sonny's strong hand was the only thing keeping him upright. The room began to swim. He couldn't tell the bars from the floor. He leaned away as far a the hand holding up allowed and lost his last two meals.

"Pupils are blown to hell. Can't follow my damn finger without falling over. Dizziness, slurring words, and he threw up a kidney. Yeah, I say he has a hell of a concussion," Sonny reported sarcastically as he gently leaned his patient back against the wall.

Brock felt his heavy lids fall shut.

"Don't let him go back to sleep," Trent barked harshly.

Brock felt Sonny shake his shoulder. He just grunted he was too tired to care. His mind started drifting until he felt a sharp pain in his cheek. He cracked his eyes open and glared at his assailant; he had little energy to do much else.

"Rise and shine Broccoli."

"Piss off, Sonny."

"Doc says you need to stay awake."

"Piss off, Trent," His words started to slur again in his month.

"I got enough problems with the kid. I don't need you slipping into a coma over there."

"I'm fine," Brock crossed his arms defiantly but tried to keep his eyes open.

Time passed slowly for the prisoners. They waited for their captor to return for a new victim. They waited for Full Metal to be brought back, worse for wear but still swearing. They waited for the calvary to arrive to rescue them. But nobody came.

Ray split his time trying to come up with an escape plan and helping Trent try to keep Clay's fever under control. The kid had retreated into himself and would soon become delirious as his wound worsened. Their medical supply was already depleted and water was almost gone, if they didn't get more soon they'd all be in trouble, but Clay would be the first to suffer.

Sonny had kept up a steady stream of words to keep Brock awake. The younger man's head would loll and jerk as he fought to stay awake. One of Sonny's greatest strengths was to talk bullshit but after hours even he was going hoarse.

Clay began to fight the hands trying to comfort him. Throwing his head from side to side, he began to mumble. His fever had risen, he had now become delirious.

"Do you think Jason's more scared of losing people or his job?" Clay mumbled, trying to meet his teammates' eyes with his fever bright blue eyes.

"What crazy-ass stuff are you spewing now Blondie? That fever must be cooking your brain inside your head." Sonny turned away from one patient to the other.

"He's lost lots of people but he always comes back to Bravo One."

"So?" Sonny walked up to the bars dividing him from his brothers.

"Is it cause he needs to save everyone or cause he doesn't know how to be anything else?" Clay's own father chose the job over the lives of the ones he loved.

"I guess we all worry about finding a place outside of Bravo," Ray spoke up reasonably, "But in the end, we do what we do to save people."

Trent wiped down Clay's brow, "We make the sacrifices. We do the job that others can't."

Brock felt himself drift away to the sound of his brothers' voices. He thought about their leader as he faded out. Jason reminded him of Rooster.

He had the retired cattle dog when he was a teenager. He always thought his brash Texan teammate would make him think of Rooster. But every time he was reminded of the old heeler it was because of his team leader.

Rooster had not taken to retirement well. He'd push himself past his limits; making him a regular visitor at his mom's office. He had arthritis but he never let that stop him from chasing down anything he thought was straying too far. He spent most of his time herding puppies and Sassy but was not limited to them.

One evening his home had gotten smacked by a bad storm. Brock had entered the kennels to find pandemonium. Rooster had herded every semi-domesticated animal in an almost five-mile radius. Everything from dogs, cats, a few chickens, and even a goat had been herded into the Reynolds kennel to weather the storm.

Rooster had saved the animals' lives by getting them into a place of safety.

He felt it was his duty to make sure all the animals around him were safe.

Even though he'd been retired, he refused to stop doing the job he was trained to do. The job he was born to do. The job he loved.

Bravo One had many fears. He feared if he could do the job. He feared what would happen when he couldn't do the job. He feared loving people. He feared losing people. But Brock thought his biggest fear was losing control. If he was there; if he was in charge, he could make sure everything turned out alright.

Brock felt someone shaking him. He squinted up at the blurry form. Jason Hayes was smiling down at him. Full Metal stood at the open cell door, bruised but holding a gun. In the next cell over Sonny was helping Trent and Ray get Clay onto a stretcher.

"Time to go home," Jason held out a hand to help him up. He swayed on his feet but Jason held him steady. He walked him out of the cell, leading his team out of their temporary prison.

Bravo had nothing to fear when Jason was there.


	5. The Fight In The Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For Seal Team week. Thursday - "It's things like these that keep me up at night."
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains the death of civilians, including children to wartime violence.

**Dog Days**

"It's spin ups like these," Ray paused before admitting quietly, "That keep me up most nights."

"It was a bad one," Jason agrees with a sigh.

"Sometimes I wonder if I can do it again. If I can gear up and face it again."

"You're the strongest person I know."

"I don't feel strong right now," Ray gasped out hoarsely, "I feel...small."

Brock roused at the sound of hushed but distressed voices below him. Brock had made a bed on top of a stack of crates for himself and Cerb. Everyone needed space alone to rest and emotionally recollect themselves before they landed. They were flying back home after a bad mission.

Bravo had been spun up for an urgent mission in Africa. Insurgents had taken over a village that contained American missionaries. One of which had familial connections to an influential American somewhere. The entire population had been taken hostage. They had threatened to behead the Americans and slaughter the entire village unless their demands were met. Down to the last old man, woman, and child. Not a soul would be left breathing. Bravo was sent there to stop that from happening.

It didn't go as planned. The mission went belly up before they even got boots on the ground. The entire mess went from bad to FUBAR by the time they entered the village.

They moved into position, in the dead of night, to the sounds of gunfire. It was too early in the timeline given in negotiations for the promised violence. The intelligence they got had claimed that any killings would not take place till dawn. Bravo was supposed to stealthily securing the American prisoners, they were the priority. The secondary mission was eliminating the hostiles and freeing the village.

Some of the villagers had secretly retrieved hidden weapons and had started a firefight with their captors. The untrained villagers used the element of surprise and home turf advantage and had held their own at first. Then the few old rifles ran out of ammo before they ran out of fight.

Bravo could make out bodies littering the streets through the nighttime optics. Some laid in lines, killed execution-style. Others ranged around the town square as if they were taken down as they tried to flee from the threat. There were too many small bundles hidden in shadows. They didn't have time to stop and dwell. They eliminated every insurgent without mercy. It was too little, too late.

When the shooting ended. The village descended into an eerie silence. Death had a sound that the operators were unfortunately quite familiar with. Bravo spread out looking for any survivors or remaining threats. Mourning the loss of life would come later.

Ray gave a sudden cry starling his brothers into hyper-alertness. They all turned towards him. They watched him push a deceased woman over. He called for Trent as he bundled something into his arms. He started rocking back in forth talking softly to the bloody form he held close.

Trent ran to his side with his pack. He examined her, trying to keep her blood inside her body. It was another losing battle. She was too severely wounded. She became another casualty of the senseless violence Bravo was too late to stop.

Ray had sat with the mortally wounded little girl. She cried for her mother, who had died trying to save her. He sang softly to her in a language she didn't understand. He held her in his arms as she gasped out her last breath. He held her for some time as her body cooled before he stood up with his precious cargo. He laid her gently in her mother's limp arms.

The village was massacred. No survivors were found. It was a mission failure.

It was tired, dirty, depressed men that entered the plane. They carried the bodies of their fellow countrymen while they left the other victims to rest in the soil of their homeland. Dropping their gear as if that was the thing weighing down their shoulders they each grabbed a beer. They went their separate ways to find as much privacy, as they could in the confined space, to go lick their emotional wounds. The atmosphere was somber as they settled in for take off.

Bock was stuck. He didn't like eavesdropping but he couldn't move and ruin their heart to heart. He couldn't go back to sleep knowing his brothers were hurting right under him. Brock stooked Cerb's head as the dog whined quietly at the negative atmosphere.

Ray was always proving something in his own quiet ways. Whether it was to others or himself, sometimes it was hard to tell. He tried to be the best. He was always pushing himself to be the best. The best operator, the best provider, the best husband, the best father he could be.

He should know he has nothing to prove to his brothers.

As he laid listening to Ray's struggles he pondered ways to help him. He couldn't help but think about his family protector when he was a little kid. Leo had been small; some kind of terrier mix. But he personified the saying about the size of the dog and the size of the fight inside.

His dad had given Leo to his mom as a wedding gift. He was their first dog together. He was protective of the family from the day they had become a family.

Leo would hunt and kill pests, varmints, and even snakes. The dog would follow after a crawling, toddling baby Brock and keep him out of trouble. When he fell over on his unsteady legs, Leo would lick away his tears. He almost felt like a third parent to the young boy. He even saved Brock's life when he was three or four. Someone had dropped off a dog at the end of their driveway before speeding off. It turned out he had an aggression problem. The unhappy dog had taken after the young boy with no one to stop him. No one but Leo. The little dog had taken after the much larger dog with a vengeance. Keeping him away from his young human until Brock's mother could sedate him. Both dogs became patients of his mother's; making full recoveries. They both led complete and happy lives.

He wanted his brothers to have the same. They led hard lives and saw the worst humanity had to offer. The mission had been a bad one, but they had each other's backs. They'd all be okay because they'd all make sure every brother was okay.

He sent Cerb down to the pair with a nearly silent command. He listened to his troubled brothers relax in the presence of their canine teammate. Slowly Bravo One and Two's breathing evened out as they nodded off to sleep. Brock allowed himself to drift off not long after them.

When they woke they'd be ready to fight another day. Bravo would always be ready.


	6. Underdog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For Seal Team week. Friday - "In my defense, he was already dead when I got here."
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains violence.

**Dog Days**

"What the hell!" Sonny exclaimed as he was the first to enter the room.

The room was splattered in blood. Seven bodies were scattered across the floor. Not a soul was left alive except one lone frogman. He looked like an extra from a zombie movie. If he wasn't standing and clearly breathing he would have been mistaken for the bodies cooling at his feet. Covered in gore he tightly gripped an equally messy knife in his hand. He fell into a defensive crouch with his weapon ready to deal out more death. His eyes bored into the new arrivals with a deadly intensity as the tension was thick enough to chock on. Bravo was on a rescue mission, they didn't want to end it by hurting the one they were sent to rescue. Or have him hurt them.

"Whoa, calm down, it's Bravo," Sonny held out his hands in surrender. He hoped he was deemed a friend before he was run through like an enemy.

Slowly Full Metal blinked. His hands dropped to his side as he straightened from his crouch. He took in the room for the first time with another slow blink. Taking in the state of his captors, he turned to his would-be rescuers and gave a small smirk, "In my defense, they were already dead when I got here."

Trent took in the carnage, "Dead as in not breathing or the walking dead cause they brought you here."

Full Metal didn't say anything. His silence was answer enough. He just gave Bravo a slightly manic smile, showing off his bloodied teeth.

"That's what I thought," Trent sighed rubbing the bridge of his nose, "How bad you hurt this time?"

"I'm fine," He winced as Trent poked against his bruised and bloodied skin. He batted away the medic's hands, "You should see the other guys."

"I did," Trent deadpanned. It was hard to tell what blood was his patient's and what was not. He needed to get him cleaned up so he could see what he was dealing with because his patient was sure as hell not going to tell him. Not to mention the infection and contamination threat that was a real possibility by the state he found his patient in. Covered in the blood of the men he'd killed.

"Damn Full Metal," Sonny finally found his voice again, "Your balls really are made of solid steel."

"Don't you forget it, Sunshine."

"Down Cujo," Jason teased taking in the scene and the state of his fellow team leader and friend. Bravo team had secured the bunker their brother was being held captive in. They all had peaked into the small room to make sure he was still in one piece. Unlike his captors.

Brock took one side of Full Metal as Trent took the opposite, leading him from the room. Nobody looked back. Bravo led the way out of the prison, now tomb. Once outside, away from the scent of death, they lowered their patient to the ground. Brock assisted the medic in assessing, cleaning, and stabilizing the patient for transport. They did it in the silence of a well-practiced team. This left Brock time to think as he worked.

Cujo was not a dog Brock was around very often when he was little. Brock kept his distance after Leo intercepted Cujo from going after the young boy when the dog was first dropped off with his new family. His aggression was not like Chance's. He wasn't abused and scared. He was a dog who had been teased and tormented by humans to the breaking point. He had enough and he wasn't going to take it anymore. Brock's parents figured why he went for Brock was because kids had been his primary tormentors. They probably poked him with sticks, took his food away, and threw things at him.

They wouldn't have stopped until the dog fought back. He probably bit them which may have put enough fear into them to stop their actions but unfortunately, it was most likely what cost Cujo his home.

Cujo had little patience and didn't take shit from anything. But once you won his loyalty; you had it for life. He was loyal to the Reynolds.

He respected his dad. Tolerated Brock. But he loved his mom. She saved his life the day they meet and every day afterward. She used more than her veterinary skills for when he picked a fight with things that fought back. She was patient and kind. Her love was what really won his loyalty.

He took on a bear for his mom. The two had gone out on a hike together. The mama bear had cubs to protect but Cujo was protecting something too. He turned out to be the more fierce protector. He went almost feral to keep Brock's mother safe. He was covered in blood but he was proud. He saved the life of the one who saved him.

Brock learned never to mess with someone, man or beast, who had been backed up into a corner. If they had come to the point of laying down and dying or die fighting especially if they had someone or something to defend, you would be in for one hell of a fight. A fight that you had the real possibility of not coming out the victor. A lost cause could always turn around and win. Underdogs could always come out on top. The most dangerous thing on the planet was a being with nothing left to lose. If the sacrifice was worth it, they could take on the whole world.

Scott Carter was no quitter. He was a man born too late. His inner strength, loyalty, and pure brutality were characteristics of an era gone by. He was a military man through and through. He made himself the last line of defense to get through to get to the people he would die to protect.

He would sacrifice his life. Defend to the death with his bare hands if he had to. If he deemed you worthy he'd move heaven and earth to protect you. Alpha team was all in the hospital, half in critical conduction. He'd gotten them out. They made it to medical care. They were alive because Alpha One had made sure of it by the sacrifice of his freedom and nearly his life. He gladly gave it. But he was no quitter. His men were safe but he wasn't going to lie down quietly and take death. He met it head-on with a dangerous gleam in his eye and a smirk gracing his lips. He fought with his hands. They were restrained. So he fought with his legs. They were held down. So he fought we his teeth.

He fought out from under the bodies holding him down.

He stood over those bodies as they stilled in death.

He was alive to protect and serve once more.

Bravo found him there and took him home.


	7. The Sheepdog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For Seal Team week. Saturday - "Are you always this prone to bad luck and violence? If so, that's kind of sad."

**Dog Days**

**"I'm a sheepdog. I live to protect the flock and confront the wolf." -LTC(RET) Dave Grossman**

"This is getting ridiculous," Trent turned to the rookie after Clay secured their target into the back seat of their vehicle. The kid tried to hide his cringe as the medic set his sights on him. He refused to make eye contact hoping the confrontation ended quickly.

Clay mumbled something, never raising his bowed head.

Trent rolled his eyes at the kid's words, "Yes, you're a tier-one operator, that does not mean you need to get injured so much."

"It's not that much," Clay finally lifted his head, revealing his bruised face. He backed away a step as he crossed his arms.

Trent palpated the swelling on his teammate's face, "My hell Clay this is the fourth mission that you've gotten hurt this month."

"It's not my fault the HVT squirted into a bar fight," Clay defended in clipped tones to fight his hisses of pains as the medic's fingers found the sore spots on his ribs.

"Just because he ran through one didn't mean you had to participate."

"I didn't start anything. I just defended myself."

"You have to have the worst luck in the whole damn Navy then," Trent snapped.

"I can do my job," Clay growled. He jerked away from Trent's touch, stalking towards another vehicle. He slammed the driver's side door. He strapped in and started it up, waiting for the caravan to take off.

Trent stood staring after his irritated patient. He watched Ray and Full Metal climb in and secure their HVT in the back seat as Jason slipped into the front seat. He glanced once more at his supposed patient. Sonny sat next to him, mouth moving a mile a minute. Hopefully, he'd get the kid out of his head and in a better mode before they got back to base. He let out an angry huff as he made his way to the lead vehicle. He sat in the passenger seat without a word. The medic was irritated too.

Brock drove in silence. Never asking his passenger what was bothering him. Trent was thankful for his brother's ability to read a situation.

Brock finally broke the silence, "You ever hear of a Pyrenees?"

Trent knew the other man well enough that he'd drop the subject if Trent didn't feel like answering. He gave an opening if Trent wanted to take it; if not he wouldn't push the subject. Trent had cooled down some. He was curious where Brock's brain would take the conversation so he answered, "Sure big white sheepdog."

"Well here's the thing they don't herd sheep they guard them."

"So?" Trent asked gruffly having a suspicion where this conversation was headed.

"They're just a big ol teddy bear till you provoke him," The younger man gave him a knowing look out of the corner of his eye without turning away from the road.

"Don't even start with me Brock," Trent grumbled, "Sometimes you're just as bad."

"No one is as bad as the kid," Brock argued, "I think he's cursed."

"Maybe he's just prone to violence."

"Not prone, just surrounded by it maybe."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"No," Brock took one hand off the steering wheel and clapped his shoulder, "But at least he's in a place where violence is expected. Plus he has all of us to watch his back."

"It doesn't seem like enough sometimes," Trent sighed, thinking of the kid's many injuries. All the times' Clay almost died on Bravo's watch. Or worse when he was in trouble far from the help of his brothers.

"What more can you do?"

Brock fell silent letting Trent make the next move in their conversation. The car rolled along as neither man spoke each lost in their thoughts.

Brock remembered his family Pyrenees. Snowball was the mellowest dog Brock ever saw. You could literally push her over and she would go down with no resistance waiting for belly rubs. Puppies used her as a chew toy. Brock used her as a pillow. She would always go with the flow except when someone was hurt or threatened.

Her seldom-heard deep rumbling bark would be the first sign something was wrong in the Reynold household. If Leo or Cujo got a little too violent or injured. If Rooster got a little too rough herding the little ones If Sassy wondered a little too far. She would let them know. If Chance and Brock got in over their heads. If the duo was in trouble or hurt in any way she was there. Depending on the situation, sometimes she barked and growled. Other times she licked and cuddled. She was whatever you needed her to be. You never had to question if Snowball cared about you even when you made her mad.

Trent watched the scenery as it passed by. Brock was a soothing presence in the world of alpha males. He didn't judge but he didn't agree just for the sake of agreeing. He tried to get his thought in order. "I didn't mean to snap at the kid," He confessed quietly.

"I know."

"The kid has had a shitty life."

Brock nodded in agreement.

"He won't reach thirty if he keeps this up."

"Not if Bravo has anything to say about it."

"What if we don't get a choice?" It was the real problem. Not so much Clay's injuries, although they were bad, but Trent's inability to stop them from happening. He could become a doctor and have a damn ER in his bag and someday it would not be enough. He, as imperfect and weak as he was, was the last thing standing between his brothers and death. That responsibility sat on his shoulders like a boulder.

"Who really ever gets a choice?" Brock knew they were not so naive. They had seen terrible things, hell they had done terrible things. But they had a duty to their country and their brothers to stand as a last defense between those terrible things and what was still good in the world. That came at a cost. You couldn't pick your consequence, you could only act in the best way you knew how.

They would all live and die as sheepdogs. They made the sacrifices so others didn't have to. They fought and bleed together. They would always be ready to defend the sheep from the wolves to the death if necessary. It was their duty and purpose as Bravo team. They did what others couldn't or wouldn't do. Brothers to the bitter end they would fight, die and kill for each other. As such, they forged a bond of brotherhood that could not be broken.

**"A sheepdog, a warrior, someone who is walking the hero's path. Someone who can walk into the heart of darkness, into the universal human phobia, and walk out unscathed" -LTC(RET) Dave Grossman**


End file.
